Nora Roberts Land (17 page)

The tires gripped the ice, and he fought to keep the car straight. When he got to the highway, he rolled the window down and let it rip. He barely saw the deer in time and would have hit it if it hadn’t made a sharp zigzag off the road. He welcomed the adrenaline rush.

Memories of another night, another highway surfaced, but he clicked them off. The past was past. Only the present was real.

He’d made a stand with Meredith Hale.

He almost hoped she wouldn’t cave.

He had a bad feeling the pleasure of being with her wouldn’t be worth the pain it would cause them both.

He shifted in his seat. Who was he lying to now?

Chapter 17

J
ill bounced away from the keg, sipping her pumpkin beer. “Monster Mash” played at a steady volume from somewhere behind her. A mummy made of whipped cream topped a buffet table, tempting her. She took a taste with her finger and gagged.

“Shaving cream,” a Star Trek officer noted.

“Gack.”

She was squeezing through two bloody vampires holding fake rats when an arm on her shoulder made her jump.

Jemma snorted. “Freaked out by the rats?”

“People are sick.”

Jemma’s Cleopatra wig shifted as she bobbed her head to the music. “They’re from Pat’s uncle. He’s a taxidermist in Idaho.”

“Yuck!” Jill reached over to adjust Jemma’s wig.

“You should have come as Ol’ Mother Hubbard. I’m fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re totally lit. Where have you been?”

“The back room. I decided to live a little tonight.”

“Jemma,” Jill scolded. “You’re not into that stuff.” Her nose picked up the pungent smell of marijuana and patchouli. “Dammit, Jem.”

The heavy touch of black kohl around her friend’s over-bright eyes was smudged. “Pete was here with his new girl. Can you believe it? He’s already seeing someone. I wanted to die before, but now I feel great.”

Jill wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, honey. Where is he? I’ll knock him in the nuts with my staff.”

“That would be awesome, Jillie. He took one look at me and bolted.” She pushed back, weaving in place.

“Better slow down a bit,” Jill said, wrapping a steadying arm around her.

Jemma’s kiss smeared red lipstick over her cheek. “Don’t be upset. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered, worry darkening her enjoyment. Damn Pete. Couldn’t he have waited at least a few more months?

Batman entered Lola Parson’s family room, making Jill freeze in place. He was a few inches taller than most of the partygoers. And she’d know that mouth anywhere.

“Brian’s here, Jem.”

“Go outside. I’ll keep him occupied. There’s no reason for both of us to be miserable.” Still unsteady on her feet, Jemma leaned against a beige ottoman, and then sank down into it, closing her eyes. “I’ll get to him in a minute.”

“I’ll watch her, Jill,” someone said from behind her.

As a Robin Hood, Ray Pollack wasn’t much of a dashing swashbuckler. He was too short and gangly for the tights, and way too nice to fight the nasty Sheriff of Nottingham. Being the college’s main marijuana dealer, he didn’t need to be strong. He needed to be smart. And he was—she knew that from the chats they had when he came in for his large soy mochas. Top of his class and pre-law. Jill appreciated the irony. Her grandpa had been pumping her for a name, but she wouldn’t give it. He was crazy to think anything serious was going on. People partied. People puked. It was a chemical reaction.

“Seems like your stuff already did its magic.”

His face fell. “She was upset about Pete. I told her to be sure.”

“Whatever. I’m going outside for some air. Glenda, will you keep an eye on her?” she asked a biology student who was dressed as a nurse.

“Sure, Jill,” she said, plopping down next to Jemma. “Best let her sleep it off. Poor kid. Pete’s an asshole.”

“You said it.” Jill smoothed the black hair from Jemma’s cheek, and then eased her way out onto the back porch.

The wind bit into her legs like a million slivers, but she could stand it for a few minutes. The clean air filled her lungs, dispelling the strong stench from indoors—strong perfumes and aftershaves mixed with beer and various types of smoke, both legal and illegal.

She jumped when a black form materialized next to her, his cape rippling. His amused smile made her want to bean him with her makeshift staff. He just had to follow her out.

Brian pointed to his chest, bending low so their frozen breath mingled in the air. “I’m—”

“Butthole,” she interrupted, depriving him of the famous line.

He rested his hand on his waist, his cape snapping in the wind. “Try another B word.”

“Butt blister.”

His smile deepened. “That’s two words.”

His familiar scent and those mischievous blue eyes had her shivering from more than cold. She snapped her fingers. “Bastard.”

His mask emphasized his frown. “I don’t think Little Bo Peep should talk that way.”

She tried to walk around him, but he kept blocking her.

“I don’t think Batman should harass Little Bo Peep.”

“Batman’s only trying to protect her from the big bad wolf. I think I saw one inside.”

“That’s a werewolf, you dumbass.”

He touched her white-ribbed bodice. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Now that you mention it.”

He swung off his cape like a bullfighter, wrapping it around her before she could stop him.

“Shame to cover up that costume, though,” he said. “I think it’s even hotter than a French maid’s outfit.”

“Wear one often, do you?” Her smile was all teeth.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, making her shiver even harder. “Yes, and I always keep my feather duster with me. You never know when it might come in handy.”

She pulled away. Damn him for not losing his sense of humor out East. She’d always loved their banter, and they way he never seemed to be at a loss for a comeback.

“I need to go back inside.” Her black heel caught in the crack between the deck boards.

His hands steadied her. “You ran out here in that scanty outfit to escape me, and now you’re running back in? This has to stop, Jill.”

She thrust her staff in his direction. He didn’t budge.

“You need to leave me alone.”

His eyes met hers dead center. “I’ve tried. I can’t, Jill. Your little lie about McBride pushed my buttons. It forced me to accept the truth.”

“That’s your problem,” she said, but a hitch in her voice betrayed her.

He spanned her waist, his thumbs tangling in the front laces of her outfit. “You wouldn’t be this upset if it wasn’t your problem too. Can’t you forgive me, Jill? Jemma has.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” she said even though she didn’t mean it. “Now let me go.”

He pressed his forehead to hers suddenly, resting the rubber mask against her skin. “I can’t let you go, Jill.” His sigh caressed her cheek. “Take off my mask.”

She tried to kick him, but he slid a hard, muscled thigh between her legs, right above the garter that held up her stockings. Her thighs clenched together around him, and she was afraid her head would fall back in surrender. Her skin was both burning hot and cold, like winter exposure.

“Let me go.”

“Take off my mask.”

Even cold and aroused, she knew his unmasking was metaphorical too.

“Dammit, Jill, take off my mask.”

“No!”

His mouth curled. “Fine, if that’s how you want it.”

He slammed his lips against hers, mask and all. The impact rocked her back on her heels. He followed, his hands fisting around her waist. Her mouth opened. His tongue swept inside. The feel of it had her body screaming, her muscles clenching hard in response. She dropped her staff and gripped his head.

After so many years of wanting him, her body was screaming
Yes, God, yes.

He changed the angle of their kiss, deepening it, his cold leather gloves settling on her even colder butt. He thrust his hips forward, making her stomach seize. She wanted him. Now. Was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

His breath fanned out in short puffs, matching hers. “Let’s get out of here.”

A scream broke through her aroused reverie. Brian lifted his head as shouting erupted in the house behind them, and both of them turned to look inside. People were running everywhere, yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Something’s wrong. We should get inside.”

He pushed her toward the door.

All traces of the party had evaporated. Women were crying, mascara running down their cheeks. The few men who weren’t wearing masks had the shocked, rubbernecking look people get near a fatal car crash. A few people were kneeling down over something. Jill edged closer, but then stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of a sandaled foot lying lax on the worn green carpet.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as the shock hit, and a tremor ran through her body.

She looked higher and saw that some guy was shaking Jemma, who was lying supine on the floor, Ray beside her.

“Jem!” she screamed.

“Christ!” Brian pushed through the crowd. He knelt by Jemma and pressed two fingers to her neck, looking for a pulse. He thrust the guy away with a hard shove and tugged off his mask. Turning her head, he started CPR.

“I don’t know what happened,” Ray cried, wringing his dark green costume. “She stopped breathing.”

Jill edged closer. She watched Brian count in between breaths, his cupped hands making compressions on her chest.

“Call an ambulance, Jillie,” he yelled and then lowered his mouth to Jemma’s again.

She fell back, hitting people. Oh, God. Where was her purse? “I need a cell phone! Now” she shrieked.

“Here!” a girl cried out to her right, thrusting something at her.

Jill dimly realized she was dressed as Barbie before opening it and dialing in three scary numbers with a shaking finger.

“Man, the cops are going to show up. I’m outta here,” one of the vampires said. “Ray, you’d better take off too.”

His gaze met hers before he stumbled off, a few of the other guests following him. Cowards, she wanted to yell.

When dispatch picked up, Jill relayed their location, and reported that her friend wasn’t breathing. She didn’t hear what the lady said next, or if she did, she couldn’t process it. Barbie took the phone from her limp hand.

Brian continued CPR. Jill waited for Jemma to push him off and say,
Yuck, McConnell, get that mouth away.
And then laugh with gusto.

But she didn’t.

Jill stood frozen, locked in ice.

Brian’s red face beaded with sweat. “Dammit, Jill, get over here!”

She tripped as she took a step, off balance, and fell next to her best friend. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached for Jemma’s hand. It already seemed cold to her. She fingered her wrist for a pulse. This is bad, her mind said, but she couldn’t feel that. She couldn’t feel anything.

“Bri, she doesn’t have a pulse,” she gasped.

He took a deep breath as he pumped his hands on Jemma’s chest. “She will. Dammit, Jem! Come on. Come back to us.”

Then he pressed his mouth to hers again, trying to breathe life into her.

His emotional reaction triggered Jill’s. “Jemma, please!” she cried, sobbing now, her hands tearing at her hair.

“I think she’s gone,” someone commented.

Brian started pumping again—one, two, three. “Shut the fuck up! She’s going to be fine.” He lowered his mouth to hers again.

Putting a trembling hand on his arm,” Jill said, “Bri.”

He shot up, his blue eyes red-rimmed, wild. “No! She’s not dying on me.”

Jill’s heart exploded, the fragments burying deep into her bones, pain radiating everywhere.

Brian didn’t give up. Not until the paramedics arrived, pulled him off, and pronounced Jemma dead.

She walked over to him, feeling like she wasn’t in her own body, but in some glass room where she could see everything but not be touched by it. Brian was panting, watching with glassy eyes as they laid a blanket over Jemma, covering her beautiful face. Jill wrapped her arms around him, pressed her face into his chest, and fell to pieces. His hands fisted by his sides, and she rubbed at the tension in his back, wanting to comfort, seeking his comfort. Then his arms squeezed her in a vice, and he buried his sweaty head in her neck, making her sob all the harder.

Chapter 18

M
eredith set the morning paper aside when she heard the muffled rap on the door. She darted forward, her slippers sliding on the hardwood floor. She hoped Jill wouldn’t wake up.

She looked through the peephole and saw Tanner holding two cups of coffee. Even though she wasn’t dressed, she cinched her blue terrycloth robe closed and opened the door. If anyone expected her to look presentable, they weren’t her friend.

“I heard what happened. I brought you guys coffee.”

After what had happened between them the night before, she thought about telling him to get lost, but she didn’t want that. God, she hurt—it felt like she’d been beaten by a bat everywhere.

“Come in,” she said in a soft voice, “but please be quiet. Jillie’s finally asleep.”

She took the coffee, and stepped back to let him in. He removed his outerwear, displaying jeans and a black fleece—a far cry from the pirate outfit. When he followed her into the kitchen, she gestured to a worn chair.

He laid his hands on the table and pinned her with that intense gaze of his. “I had a bad feeling this morning that you didn’t show up at the pool because of what happened between us last night. So I swam off my mad and headed to Don’t Soy with Me. Margie told me what happened. It’s a tragedy. How’s Jill?”

She wanted to hold his hand, so she gripped the coffee cup instead. “She’s devastated,” she said after a moment, “and she’s afraid it’s her fault. She left her to go outside. Brian had arrived.” She rubbed her neck, remembering how Jill’s streaming tears had mixed with her black mascara. “He followed. They had another row. When they heard the commotion, they went back inside.”

She took a sip of the coffee—it didn’t do much to soothe her throat, but at least it was warm. “Brian started CPR. Jill said he didn’t stop until the paramedics dragged him off.”